


The Blackmailer

by Yalu



Series: The Wheels of London [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fear of Heights, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Happy Ending, Intimidation, M/M, Surprisingly no murder, Transphobia, criminals in love, fear tactics (but not the JTR kind), forced body exposure, humiliation (off-screen), possibly counts as torture?, terrorising (of someone who completely deserves it), threats of being outed, transphobic threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25274935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/pseuds/Yalu
Summary: When a business associate threatens to expose Ned's secret, Ned calls Jacob, and Jacob gives him exactly what he deserves.
Relationships: Jacob Frye/Ned Wynert
Series: The Wheels of London [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831084
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	The Blackmailer

**Author's Note:**

> **This fic is dedicated to every transphobic asshole who ever made a trans person feel unsafe. May Jacob Frye hunt down each and every one of you.**
> 
> This takes place after _Thieves of London_ , but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Ned and Jacob have been in a relationship for at least a few months. 
> 
> For anyone new to my 'verse: The character Rose is Ned's friend, fellow thief, and acts as his assistant at his (legal looking) shipping (with bonus smuggling & stealing) company. Ned and Jacob are business partners, so the three of them work together often.
> 
> This was going to be in a later chapter of _Thieves of London_ , but I'm reorganising that fic so it doesn't get bogged down in subplots, and this bit no longer fits. I wrote it a while ago, and I like it a lot, so it gets its own one-shot.
> 
>  **Mind the tags.** This fic involves Ned (nearly) being outed as having a female body, and the description of it can be upsetting or triggering, though it is brief and only discussed/remembered after the fact. There's also some pretty graphic physical assault (of someone we don't like), but no serious harm done beyond minor injuries. Unfortunately.

The little Rook who'd delivered the message hadn't sounded hurried, but it was rare enough for Ned to ask him to come immediately that Jacob left Maggie to handle negotiating a new pub's protection fees and headed for the station to hop a train to Southwark.

It wasn't odd for more than one kid to bring the same message either, given how they spread word, so he didn't worry when another lad came to find him halfway to the station. Or the third. But, after the second _adult_ Rook came jogging up to say, "Gov, you're needed down at Wynert's", Jacob broke into a sprint and hijacked the nearest carriage. A pair of bobbies heard the shouts of the booted driver, and shrill whistles followed him down three blocks, but he lost them at Charing Cross. Honestly, he barely noticed.

It was quiet at Ned's warehouse, which was either good or very very bad, and Jacob had to leap off the carriage and steady himself for a moment before he could use eagle vision to tell. His heart pounded as he scanned the floors.

No – it was all right, it was peaceful. No Blighters, no bodies, no screams, and up on the top floor Ned and Rose were in his office, pacing. They were all right.

Jacob fired the rope launcher, kicked off, and sprang in through the window a moment later. For once no one rolled their eyes at his entrance: Ned sagged in relief and Rose, looking miserable, swept past him to lean out the window, checked for prying eyes, then shut it tight behind him. "What happened?" said Jacob.

"You came," said Ned tightly. "Thank you."

"Never mind that, what's _happened_?"

Ned glanced at Rose, and took a big breath. "One of our associates has threatened the business. He's demanding we give his company exclusivity on all silk and leather sales at a fixed price way below what we can afford, or else he'll 'end my career anyway'. He's coming back tomorrow at one o'clock with a contract, and if I don't sign–"

He bit it off, grimacing.

Jacob narrowed his eyes. Ned was standing stiffly, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders hunched and angled away from both him and Rose. He wasn't meeting their eyes, but he was glaring, mostly at the desk and guest chairs, and his face was red – shame, not anger. It was the way he looked when he sat up in bed and made Jacob turn away so he could remove his bandages and quickly rebutton his shirt. Something hot and sick lit up in Jacob's gut. "Who is he and how did he find out?"

Ned's face tightened – anger, at himself – and he turned away sharply, shoulders hunching higher. 

"We were fixing the bandages," Rose said, her voice thick. "In here. They'd come loose. Mr Parker was waiting for his appointment and became impatient." Bitterly, she added, "I should have been at my desk. We don't have a lock on this door."

"And I don't have anything on him," said Ned. "The man's a bastard but he's a clean one, as far as our sort of business goes. He's rich enough that I don't have the means to ruin him."

"I do," Jacob replied darkly. "How painful do you want it to be?"

Rose shook her head tiredly, but Ned almost smiled. "Actually, I didn't ask you here to kill him."

Jacob blinked. "Why not?"

"The business," explained Rose. She looked rumpled and – were her eyes red? "Parker is the only real competitor to Hampton's Wholesalers, who buy most of our textile goods. Without him, Hampton's can raise its prices sky high, and we can't afford that either."

"And it'll raise too many questions if he dies," said Ned, "especially if he's told anyone he's expecting a new contract with us. The police have been looking for an excuse to search my buildings again." He sighed. "I know it's not your specialty, but you can get information out of people. Something him to keep quiet? Some scandal, something he doesn't want his wife to know – anything."

"Probably, but why bother?"

Ned looked alarmed. "Jacob?"

Oh – that had come out wrong. Jacob shook his head. "You want him to be scared you'll spill his secrets, if he has any, but if he has some mistress and you use that, he could just get rid of the mistress."

"I was thinking we steal his financial records."

"People aren't scared of records, Ned. Even if you found something in there, it's not going to make him half as frightened as you are of him right now."

Ned bristled, but nodded stiffly. "What do you suggest?"

"You don't need some scandal to make sure he never says a word, he just needs to be scared of _something_." Smirking, Jacob spread his arms. "Me."

"More violence," sighed Rose. Jacob shrugged.

"It's effective. People will do anything when they're scared for their life, and I can make sure he'll wet his trousers from now on when he so much as _thinks_ of you."

Ned was smiling now, sly and darkly pleased. "All right," he said. "How will you do it?"

Jacob grinned to match him, wolfish and cruel. "By taking him for a ride he'll never forget."

Twilight was settling over the city when Mr Charles John Parker arrived home. He shut his door and hung up his coat, and settled in by the fire with his pipe while the cook prepared dinner.

Jacob watched from a distance, and hated.

He'd given his orders to the Rooks on the way out of Ned's warehouse, and now he waited for word that they were ready in the shadows of an alley across from Parker's home. He was dressed in the plain, patched clothes he'd travelled in from Crawley, and they felt odd now, echoes of an old life, but they were discreet. Parker couldn't know who Jacob was – Ned had insisted on that – and should he try, after tonight, to describe his assailant, no one who knew Mr Frye, leader of the Rooks, let alone Sir Jacob Frye, Knight of the Realm, would recognise the description.

(All right, he had to admit George and the Council had a point about total anonymity, but it wasn't hard to make this work anyway.)

Parker couldn't be allowed to see any Rook involvement either, so Jacob had put Bill in charge of this mission, and let him pick his men, and so he wasn't the least bit surprised when a thoroughly boring black carriage pulled up nearby, driven by a nondescript-looking Rook dressed in brown and discreetly guarded by three more on foot in different directions.

Bill was one of them. He padded quietly into the alley and settled into the same shadows, looking for all the world like a bored man having a smoke. "Is' all ready, Boss," he said under his breath.

Jacob nodded, eyes fixed on the house. "And Bobby?"

"Moved the fights to Lambeth for the night. There's a few workers still keeping things running, like you said, and the boys are keeping rest of the folks away." He hesitated, looking at the house and the nurse lifting a shrieking child away from the second floor window. "You sure about this?"

Through the walls, Jacob saw Parker stand to kiss his wife and chatter about his day, cheerfully describing a lucrative new venture on the horizon without a care in the world. Ned was at home, drinking. "Oh yes."

Bill nodded and stubbed out his cigarette. "How long d'you need?"

"Probably not long. If they start dinner it'll have to wait– no, he's alone again," Jacob said, watching the wife leave the sitting room. He shook off the fog of eagle vision and straightened up. "Not long."

He casually walked out of the alley and down a few houses before crossing the street, just behind the carriage Mr Parker would be travelling in tonight, neatly backed up so that only the horses, not the passenger door, could be seen from Parker's house. The Rook at the reins nodded to him, and Jacob returned it subtly, slipping off his cap and pulling his comfortable old hood down low over his face. They were ready.

Parker was alone in the sitting room. The front door was locked, of course, but that would be no trouble. Mrs Parker was on the first floor, their screaming child and the nurse were on the second, and the cook was busy in the kitchen behind the stairwell; only Parker himself was in a position to see the door open. A smoke bomb could cover that, but he'd still have to close the door behind him... hmm.

Jacob signalled to one of the Rooks watching the back of the carriage and gestured for him to follow. The man's footsteps were heavy, but he did his best to be stealthy, and tucked himself into the shadows fairly well while Jacob picked the lock. "Wait here," he ordered in a whisper once the last pin clicked. "Once we're out, shut the door and scarper. And take a deep breath," he added – "now."

He turned the handle and chucked the smoke bomb. His Rook jumped but held his breath, and Jacob stalked through the smoke to catch Parker as he leapt out of his armchair. One twist of his arm and a crack of his elbow and Parker was stumbling ahead, out the door, sputtering and coughing. The door shut soundly behind them.

Jacob marched him towards the carriage, and when Parker got enough breath back to to ask, "What in God's–?" Jacob bent his small finger backwards and he gasped into silence. 

Usually, when he had his bounties caught like this, Jacob would hush them or mock them, but that gave them something to reply to, and he wanted Parker confused as well as terrified. So he said nothing as they reached the carriage, as he shoved him in, or as he locked the door behind him. Bill had made sure all the curtains were down, and the Rook at the reins quietly slipped off his seat as Jacob took over. 

In the mouth of alley, Bill caught his eye, and Jacob nodded: Well done. Bill would see to it that all these Rooks got a bonus, and would give Jacob their names in the morning so he could commend them and maybe call on them again later. For now though, they were done.

From inside the carriage, Parker was getting his bottles back, and began hammering on the door, shouting. Jacob snapped the reins and they took off, speeding up enough that Jacob was shoved back in his seat and there was a satisfying _thump_ from inside the carriage. "Good lord!" Parker exclaimed. "Slow down!"

Jacob drove faster. 

It was a maze of streets and corners between here and Southwark, and Jacob took every turn at a skid, yanking back on the reins until they drifted, under- and oversteering so the carriage slammed into whatever lamppost or parked carriage was nearest. He drove hard left, then right, then left again and scraped against a building, mowed down lampposts, swinging back and forth and thumping Parker about. At first he raged and threatened ("I will have you arrested, sir! The very idea that a person of _my_ station–"), but as the knocks got harder his bluster weakened ("Pray, stop this madness! Who are you? What do you _want_?").

Still, Jacob said nothing.

As they raced across Blackfriars Bridge, there were fewer people about, and Jacob was able to slam them into nearly all of the stone railings along the way, splintering the carriage's facade. He nearly lost his seat a few times, and pulled the reins back by accident as he steadied himself, but it was worth it: Parker must have landed badly from one of those blows because suddenly his shouts were pained – a sprain at least, maybe something broken. It wouldn't do to maim him too badly, but Jacob made sure to take several turns extra hard as they crossed into the ports of Southwark. Parker moaned on impact at least twice.

The foundry was a hulking shadow against the dusky sky. Jacob pulled up close to the north entrance, checking for any police or civilians nearby, but Bill had done his job well: Only Rooks were about, save for a handful of workers keeping the steel vats hot.

He could smell the boiling metal from here. Perfect.

Parker was moving nervously about the carriage, and Jacob let him stew a moment before opening a door and yanking him out. He hit the ground face-first, and barely caught himself on his wrists, then howled – ah, the left wrist. Good to know. He cradled it as Jacob hauled him to his feet, and stumbled as he made a feeble attempt to run.

" _Don't_ ," growled Jacob, and Parker froze. 

"W-w-what do you want?"

Jacob seized his left wrist and twisted the arm behind his back. Parker screamed. "Please! I don't even know–"

"Move."

Splashes of yellow lit up the looming arch ahead of them, and Jacob walked them in slowly, letting the heat and the smell wash over his victim. Parker was shaking, though from fear or the injury he wasn't sure, and neither was enough yet.

The foundry workers who had been paid to stay late were looking away, and kept their eyes averted even as Parker pleaded for help. They'd been told only to keep a few of the big vats hot and to fill a few molds that were scheduled for tomorrow, and they were hurrying through it. 

A large crucible sat empty and waiting under the blowing steel vat, and Jacob slowed their walk as they approached. Parker started to twist even despite the injured wrist, and Jacob let him, keeping just enough of a grip that he couldn't escape. "P-p-please..."

Into his ear, Jacob said, "What?"

"P-p-p-pl-p-l–please d-don't–"

"Oh? You don't _want_ to be dropped in the giant bucket and wait for molten steel to be poured onto your head?" He shoved Parker closer; the heat was blistering. "Your skin would boil before you died, you know. You'd smell it. I don't know what would kill you first – the heat? The weight? Or would you drown?"

Parker was sobbing. "P-please I d-d-don't de-deserve–"

" _Deserve_?" Jacob yanked on his arm and marched them away, to a smaller archway by the office and the cool air outside. Parker tripped and crashed to his knees, almost in relief, and the smell of piss wafted up from him.

But Jacob wasn't done. Parker was bigger than Ned, but not so much so that Jacob couldn't get a good hold on him, and he'd triple checked the strength of the rope with Aleck: He aimed his rope launcher at the roof of the foundry and fired. Parker screamed as they tore off the ground.

It took a little work to shove the man onto the sloping roof ahead of him, but he stayed where he lay while Jacob climbed up and pulled him again to his feet. They weren't at the peak of the building – there was no sure footing for a hostage up there – but on one of the wide flat stones at the four corners of the roof. The drop was dizzying even in the twilight, at least for a man who wasn't used to it, cobblestones and coal heaps lit by scattered lamps and lanterns round the dock. Parker scrambled back from the edge, trying to cling to Jacob, but Jacob kicked the back of his knee and he fell, shoulder landing on the edge and head hanging off the side. He was looking straight down. 

He tried to fight, but Jacob twisted his left wrist and he wailed, "Dear God, _please_! _What_ do you _want_?"

Jacob stood over him with one knee in his back. "Why, Mr Parker, I thought we'd have a nice little chat!" he said brightly, then dropped his tone to deadly serious: "About a certain contract you're trying to extort from Wynert Shipping."

"W-Wynert?" said Parker. " _Wynert_ sent you?"

Jacob lifted and slammed him back into the stone. " _Sent_? No one _sends_ me. _Mister_ Wynert works for me, and I have a vested interest in ensuring that he continues to be able to work – for _me_. So you won't be bringing him any contract tomorrow, you'll be bringing him your _sincere_ apologies for ever doubting his integrity."

"You don't understand, he's a fraud! H-h-he's not a man, I saw! He's a–"

Jacob rolled him over and grabbed his throat, remembering just in time to keep his hood down and his face out of the light. "You saw nothing."

"B-but–"

"You saw _nothing_. You didn't see down his trousers and if that's where you think a man keeps his brains, let me remind you that I can _cut yours off_ right now."

Parker squeaked.

"Mr Wynert's embarrassing condition is unfortunate but makes no difference to how well he does his job. _You_ , on the other hand, don't work for me."

He let that hang in the air: the realisation behind Parker's eyes was far more effective than if he'd said it out loud. He waited, and let Parker think, and at last the man slumped in Jacob's grip, sobbing. "Please," he said, "make it quick."

Jacob let the silence stretch, for just a little longer, then said, "Oh, I'm not here to kill you." 

Parker's eyes snapped open and Jacob grinned down at him. "You do have one use – as a competitor to Hampton's. I need Wynert's prices to stay low, and for that he needs Hampton's prices to stay low."

"Yes – yes!" Parker nodded vigorously, so hard he might have shaken his head off his neck. "I can do that! You need me!"

" _I_ don't need you," Jacob growled. "Remember that." He lifted Parker to sitting by his lapels and crouched over him. "Remember, when you wake up tomorrow, and every day from now on, that you're only alive because Ned Wynert finds it _convenient_. And if you _ever_ breathe a word that makes trouble for him–"

"I won't! God, dear God in heaven I _swear_ – anything, anything–" He pawed at Jacob's front, weeping. "Thank you, thank you–"

Jacob clamped an arm round his neck and held it tight, careful of the pressure until Parker collapsed, unconscious, and Jacob sighed into the cool silence of the night, satisfied. 

...Dammit, now he had to get them down.

At five to one the next afternoon, Ned sat at his desk, lacing and unlacing his fingers. Under his hands were half-finished letters, the ink long since dry. He'd forgotten what they were for. 

He glanced again through the open door at Rose, who was rearranging her desk for the fourth time since they'd abandoned their sad attempt at lunch. It was sheer luck that they didn't have any pressing work to do today.

Jacob was perched in the window. "Anything?" asked Ned.

"Not yet."

He sounded relaxed. _He_ would be: he was sure his scare tactics had worked, and had come back last night crowing about it, but what if he was wrong? Jacob, bless him, didn't recognise failure till it hit him in the face, and if he'd misjudged– if Parker had shaken it off and it had just made him angry–

They could still kill him. That was an option. But even more risky now, after he'd spent a morning writing up his contract, probably telling all his staff about it. What if he'd told them more? Maybe they should have killed him last night. Maybe–

But it was too late now. Ned took a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Relax, Ned," Jacob said gently. "It'll be all right."

God knows why, but when he said it, Ned almost believed him. "I just want this over with."

Jacob shrugged. "Not long now. He's getting out of a carriage."

Ned shot to his feet– then remembered, and sat down again. He flexed his fingers and tidied up all but one of the letters. "How does he look?"

Jacob grinned. "Terrified."

Ned nodded. "Rose, are you ready?" he called.

She'd heard every word anyway, and stepped into the doorway to pull it shut. "Mr Frye, where will you be during all this?" She glanced round the office worriedly. "Not _here_?"

Jacob shook his head and pointed to the skylight; he'd unlatched one pane of glass earlier, one big enough to jump through if Parker was stupid enough to attack them. He hadn't said that was his reason, but Ned had seen him check his weapons pouches at least twice already, and he was still toying with a throwing knife in his fingers.

Rose nodded and closed the door, and her chair scraped as she took her place for this unrehearsed performance. Jacob disappeared.

It took three agonising minutes for Parker to make his way up the stairs. The climb itself took less than two, Ned had timed it once. Was he stalling? That was good, probably. Maybe. He could still be scheming–

"Mr Parker," Rose said firmly, just audible through the wall. "You're late."

Ned blanched– But Rose wasn't stupid, Rose wouldn't play with fire. And Rose could see Parker's face.

Maybe this would all be all right. 

Ned grabbed a pen and pretended to be writing his letter, and a moment later Rose knocked. "Come in."

The hinges creaked and Ned forced himself to keep his eyes down as he wrote meaningless words on the paper.

"Your one o'clock meeting with Mr Parker, sir," Rose said, and Ned slowly, carefully looked up...

And relaxed. 

Parker was _terrified_. He looked pale, almost grey, face drawn like he hadn't slept in weeks, and his eyes darted round the office before he dared set foot inside. He wore a coat twice as thick as the sunny weather called for and a scarf on top of it, yet still he trembled. In his gloved hands he held some folded papers, wrinkled from nervous twisting.

When Rose closed the door with a soft thump, he jumped near out of his skin.

Oh yes, Jacob has most _definitely_ succeeded. The magnificent bastard. He deserved something good for this. Something _very_ good.

"Mr Parker," Ned said evenly. "Please have a seat."

Parker stayed rooted for a moment, then hurried over as though dogs were on his heels. He sat down smoothly but smacked his wrist on the armrest and winced, cradling it. Ned decided not to notice.

"T-thank you," said Parker. "I– um. Yes." He swallowed. Then, in a rush, he thrust the papers forward, just two of them, written in a shaky hand. 

Ned took them slowly. Jacob had said Parker wasn't going to bring a contract. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Parker's nerves were because he was going to go through with it anyway–

_Read, Ned._

He read, and a few lines in, he smiled. Quickly, he buried it, and Parker was too busy looking around for shadows to notice, but inside, Ned basked in the glory and relief of success. 

It was a contract for purchasing large amounts of textiles on a regular basis, but it wasn't exclusive, had no penalties for shortages, and the money offered was ridiculously generous.

"Forgive my confusion, Mr Parker, but given the prices for which you sell to your customers, I can't see how you expect to purchase goods at these rates without bankrupting yourself."

Parker's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought of that, then down at the papers in horror. He looked ready to cry.

For a moment, Ned felt almost sorry for him. Almost. He'd spent all night reliving their meeting yesterday, and had shed more than a few humiliated tears of his own. Parker looked small now, but yesterday that face had been smug, gleeful in triumph. Once he'd realised what he was seeing he'd barged in for a better look, prying Ned's arms off his bare chest to do so. He hadn't so much as looked away while Ned dressed himself, or allowed Rose to help with the bandages, and he'd enjoyed watching their faces as he mused out loud just how back-breaking to make the terms of their new contract.

So no, Ned wasn't sorry.

But he was sensible, and signing this contract to doom Parker would draw just as much bad attention as having him killed. And honestly, Ned didn't want to ever have to see him again.

Slowly, keeping eye contact with Parker the whole time, Ned tore the papers in half. He let the scraps drift down to his desk, folded his hands, sat back and said: "I'm afraid I can't accept."

Parker's breathing quickened almost to panic, and Ned lounged in his chair, enjoying every moment of it. "P-p-please–" gasped Parker. "That d-d-demon..."

Demon? Oh, _that_ would feed Jacob's ego terribly. He would be insufferable. Ned chanced a glance at the skylight, but of course the man was nowhere in sight. Probably rolling around laughing.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Parker shook his head, whimpering.

Ned laced his fingers. "We at Wynert Shipping are quite happy with our current arrangement with Hampton's. I appreciate your generosity, but I feel that we will _all_ be happier without any ties between our businesses. Good day, Mr Parker. I trust you can show yourself out."

It took a moment for Parker to process that, but when he did he began to shake harder, covering his face, relieved. Ned kept a blank expression and waited, and after several long moments he coughed loudly.

Parker scrambled up, still cradling his arm. "Yes, of course, of course–"

The chair scraped as he pushed past it, and Ned watched him go, a mix of feelings following him out. He fumbled with the door and hurried through it, startling Rose, and fled down the stairs.

Then he was gone. _Gone_. Ned slumped in his chair. _It's over._

Rose came in, a tentative, hopeful look on her face, and when Ned nodded she beamed and hurried over to hug him. Ned held on tight for a moment, far longer than normal, steadying himself.

"Aw, what about me?" Jacob whined from above. He grinned at them and jumped, and landed in the middle of the floor with a barely a whisper.

"I swear you must be of the fae," said Rose, shaking her head, and then – to Ned's surprise almost as much as Jacob's – went over and hugged him too. Jacob looked startled, but returned it gently, gentlemanly. Ned felt his cheeks stretch as he smiled at them. "Thank you, Mr Frye."

"Miss Lennox, it was my absolute pleasure."

Then Jacob looked at him, bright and happy and _smug_ , but he'd well and truly earned it, and Ned felt such a ridiculous swell of affection for the man that he nearly leapt over the desk to kiss him.

He wasn't sure why he didn't. Perhaps because his hands were still shaking. 

Ned gripped the edge of his desk as he looked at Jacob. "I owe you," he said quietly. Jacob shook his head.

"No you don't," he said, sauntering over to hop up on the desk. He gave Ned a little shove in the shoulder and stole his hat. "We're partners. What's good for you is good for me." He twirled Ned's bowler in his fingers, just out of reach. Ned let him.

"I know," he said, "but I want to."

Quietly, Rose slipped out of the office. 

Jacob looked at him, not– not puzzled, exactly, there was far more understanding behind his eyes than Ned was comfortable with ( _you hate relying on anyone, don't you?_ ), but unsure what to say. He toyed with the hat and finally said, "I don't _want_ you to owe me."

And wasn't that the crux of it. "Neither do I. But I don't know how else to..." He shrugged. 

Giving the hat one last twirl, Jacob plopped it on Ned's head. Backwards. "You could _thank_ me. Wanker."

Ned chuckled and twisted the hat round the right way. "Well, there's a very old bottle of whisky with your name on it, if you can wait till I get home tonight."

"Hmmmm. Is that really enough?" asked Jacob, putting on an exaggerated frown. "I _did_ go _great_ lengths to save your business and your reputation. Must've broken a dozen laws in the process. Is one bottle of whisky all I deserve?"

 _God, this man._ He smiled helplessly. A lovely warmth was tingling through him, settling in his chest. He refused to try to identify it. "You know, you're right."

Ned stood up and rounded the corner of his desk, for once eye-to-eye with Jacob as he sat on it. Jacob's eyes darkened as Ned laid a hand on his chest, then slid his fingers slowly down his chest, his belly, over his belts, and circled his crotch, spiralling inward in the best tease he knew how to give. "Think you deserve this?"

Jacob groaned and lurched forward to kiss him, holding on with both hands and sliding his fingers through Ned's hair. It was hot and sweet and tasted like safety.

"I'll remind you," Rose called pointedly from outside, her eyes averted, "that this door doesn't lock." But she was smiling as they parted. Jacob rolled his eyes as Ned nodded to her.

He didn't step back just yet. Instead he tugged on Jacob's collar with his free hand. "Dinner tonight. Be there by six."

Jacob slid his hands down Ned's sides and tugged him in by his hips. "And what are we dining on, Mr Wynert?"

Ned traced his fingers around Jacob's trousers, teasing his cock. "I don't know about _you_..." – he tugged suddenly and Jacob sucked in a sharp breath – "but I'm sorted."

He groaned. " _Christ_ , Ned, how'm I supposed to last the next five hours?"

"No idea." Ned lifted his hands away and snuck another kiss. Jacob looked dizzy.

"Is this reward or torture?" he muttered. 

"You'll thank me later." One last kiss – a promise, this time – and Ned pushed him away. "Now get going, Frye, I've got work to do."

"I need to go jump in the Thames."

**Author's Note:**

> Research notes:  
> I'm not an expert on 1800s steel-making, but neither is Jacob! We've done our best to get the terminology right. The crucible is definitely one of the containers that holds molten metal, but I'm not sure which, so I've run with it being the smaller bucket-like things that sit waiting under the gigantic vats that blow bursts of yellow into the air, which I mostly see on the opposite end of the foundry from the fight club (those big vats are called Bessemer converters, but I wasn't going to try squeezing _that_ name in).
> 
> This fic is part of my _[The Wheels of London](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831084)_ Ned/Jacob series – **please subscribe** to it if you'd like alerts for any fics I post for this 'verse in the future.


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